Before Logan could even get a word out—much less, No, I fucking don’t. What do you mean?—the guy had moved away, and he was now flirting with a blonde woman. She was giving him an exclusive view down her ample tits, and Logan couldn’t stop himself from watching the newest After Hours employee while he drained his second drink.
Fuck, things just got a little more complicated.
Just when he figured life was going to be easy and hand him a woman to bend over his desk, it threw him a nice fucking curve.
Batter up! I want to play with some balls.
* * *
Standing opposite a curvaceous blonde, Tate concentrated on mixing her cocktail. This was only his second night working at After Hours, but he’d been bartending for years.
Only one of the many things Diana hated.
No matter what he’d done during their marriage, nothing had ever made her happy.
They’d been inseparable when they first started dating. If she’d been in a room with him, he’d likely ended up inside her. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other, and although that made for one hot bed at night, it sure as hell hadn’t stopped the ice-cold jealousy from trickling through the cracks of their faulty foundation.
Their life or love or whatever the hell it was, had been built on lust, and when lust had morphed into the green-eyed monster, their marriage had fallen into the toxic bin.
Now, the mere sight of her made Tate want to punch something.
After he finished shaking the fruity concoction, he poured the bright red drink into a tall glass and added a slice of pineapple, a straw, and miniscule paper umbrella. He then slid it across the bar to the blonde.
“That’ll be twelve.” He winked and gave her a sexy smirk, knowing it would get him a tip.
It was the same expression he’d offered only minutes ago to the guy at the end of the bar—the same guy that Tate could feel was still watching him.
The lady slid a twenty across the smooth surface, and she made no apologies as she eyed his body. When her gaze came back up and met his own, she flicked her tongue out and played with the straw as though she were licking the tip of his cock.
“Keep the change,” she offered in a provocative tone.
Tate took the bill and picked up a small black napkin. As she leaned closer, he made sure to admire her impressive breasts, and then he placed the small square in front of her for her glass.
“Thank you,” he accepted.
Without a second thought, the woman placed her cool hand over his. “It’s my pleasure.”
Tate knew this was all part of his job. Be flirtatious with the ladies and friendly with the men, and obviously, never cross too far over the line. He also knew that most of the businessmen and women in the area usually frequented the bar after work on their way home…or maybe they came in to avoid going home. Who knows, and who cares? Either way, his job was to be the friendly ear, get them what they wanted, and make them want to come back, so that was what he did. If he threw a little flirtation into the mix, it was only because he’d perfected it to a fine art. Plus, he always got better tips that way.
“Mine too, but I need to get back to my other customers.” He gently removed his hand and straightened up from where he’d been leaning on the bar.
“What time do you finish tonight?”
Tate smoothed a hand down over his black vest. “Late. What time do you start work tomorrow?”
“Early,” Blondie drawled. She sucked the end of the straw between her shiny, red lips.
“Ah, now, that’s a shame, isn’t it?” Tate commiserated and found that he actually meant it as his cock showed signs of interest for the first time in a long while. “Guess we’re just two ships in the night.”
Boldly, she ran her gaze down his body once again. “You here tomorrow night?”
Tate nodded as he pulled the bar towel from his shoulder. “I’m here Tuesday through Saturday nights. Haven’t you heard? I’m the new entertainment,” he stated, making his way down toward the guy at the other end.
Leaning against the bar, Tate stared at Mr. Gin and Tonic and noticed that his glass was empty once again. “Want another?”
“No.”
Tate’s eyes moved from the highball glass to the blue ones peering back at him from behind narrow, black hipster glasses. This guy screamed sophistication, from his styled black hair, slickly parted to the left, to the perfect amount of stubble. He clearly took his image seriously.
Tate had once heard Diana refer to a man as geek chic. This guy had that look about him, except for the eyes. Tate couldn’t quite pinpoint what the difference was, but with the silence between them, and the intense stare, he became slightly uncomfortable. He also noted that the interest the blonde had stirred in his cock was not subsiding, but he quickly shoved that thought aside.
“Anything else I can get for you?” Tate asked.
“Why didn’t you get her number?”
Taken off guard by the complete change of subject, all Tate managed was, “Huh?”
“Her number?” Mr. Gin and Tonic repeated, glancing across the bar in the direction of the blonde. “Why didn’t you get it? She was obviously interested.”
Still holding the small towel in his left hand, Tate started to wipe down the surface of the bar. It was already pretty clean, but he needed the distraction.
“No fraternizing with customers.” Raising his gaze, Tate gave a shrug accompanied by what he hoped was an easygoing smile, as he continued wiping the bar.
The man staring back at him didn’t return it. “That’s a shame.”
Tate stopped moving the towel and held it between his hands. What the hell does that mean? Looking around, he noticed that Amelia and Stacy, his coworkers, were nowhere in sight, so he was confused by exactly who the man was referring to. When Tate turned back, the steady gaze behind the glasses were now creased at the sides with what he swore was amusement—at him.
“It’s a shame because she’s…how did you describe the redhead earlier? Sexy as hell?”
In shock, Tate stood there, silent. He couldn’t think of one thing to say. For a brief moment, he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, and thought the man meant it was a shame that he couldn’t fraternize with him. Instead of responding, Tate remained mute with the towel in his hands, contemplating the man across the bar.
Mr. Gin and Tonic stood and picked up his briefcase from the floor. He reached for his vibrating phone on the bar top and glanced down at it. Obviously deciding it wasn’t important, he looked back at Tate as he pulled his wallet from his pants pocket. He took out some cash and slid it across the bar.
For some unknown reason, Tate felt that it was important to stand his ground, so he didn’t glance down at the money. Instead, he offered his fail-safe—the easygoing grin that usually let him get away with everything.
“You should get that number from her. You look a little stiff, like you need to unwind, if you know what I mean.”
With his own words flung back at him, Tate watched the man make a call on his phone before he turned and left the bar.
It wasn’t until Stacy came up and said his name that he realized he was still standing where he had been for the last several minutes, and his erection hadn’t fully relaxed.
Staring down at the bar, he saw a fifty on the surface, and he shook his head.
Damn, that’s one hell of a tip. I don’t care how strange that interaction was. If he’s a regular, I’m making him mine.
Chapter Two
Yep, second night in a row, and I’m back at the bar.